The Other Lisa

It stopped pointing straight at me. The chorus at the table reached a crescendo. "Three out of three!" someone shouted. Lisa, still staring at me, pushed back her chair and I thought she was going to simply leave. She walked slowly around the table, not taking her eyes off me and, stopping next to my chair, reached for my hands and pulled me to my feet, turning me to face her. My mind swam, a mixture of alcohol and confusion making me delirious. She was dressed similarly to me, short skirt barely covering her ass, heels, tight short sleeved top. I felt hot, too hot, our proximity seeming to generate heat between us.

She put a hand on my cheek, maintaining eye contact, and guided my face to hers, and I unconsciously raised a hand to her face as our lips met softly. A long moment passed as I allowed my lips to enjoy the softness of the kiss. Still looking into each other's eyes, we parted. A smile broke the unreadable expression she had worn and as her hand moved from my face to the back of my neck, she closed her eyes and pressed our lips together again. I gave in, also closing my eyes and, cupping her face in my hand, kissing her back, our lips softly exploring each other, parting, pressing, separating and then softly closing again.

The clamour from the group at the table blurred into the background and I began to enjoy this experience. Part of my mind was shouting "this is Lisa!" but I ignored that. Logic didn't matter now, only these soft lips. I felt a pressure on the small of my back as her arm reached around my waist, pulling my body into hers. I reciprocated with an arm around her chest and pressed, our small but firm boobs flattening together. Shuffling her feet closer, I could feel her bare thighs against mine and I became more absorbed in the kiss.

Presses were firmer now and I teased her lip with my tongue, felt her open more, her tongue testing, tasting mine. Suddenly something gave and she pressed hard against me, mouth opening more, I felt her exhale. I breathed her in, accepting her breath and tongue fully, crushing her body to me as hard as I could. She pulled, caressed and I passed the air she had given back into her. The room faded and I was lost in the embrace, my body trying to enjoy every sensation, every inch of her pressure.

I have no idea how long we kissed for. A crowd had gathered to enjoy the spectacle but we were unaware, uncaring, utterly absorbed in our moment. Then, just as I thought I would burst with pleasure, beginning to move my hips against her, she pulled her face away. A shining strand hung in the air joining our still parted lips before snapping back. I could feel it on my bottom lip, licked it away. Her arm was still around my waist, hand still on my neck, our bare thighs still pressed. I wanted to crush her back into me... and then she spoke.

"You fucking dyke," she whispered, almost into my mouth.

Her eyes sparkled with mirth and mischief and I felt as though she'd struck me a physical blow. My face burned and I felt the familiar fire of hatred rising in my belly. Releasing my hold, I stepped back and swung wildly at her, my right fist connecting with her perfect cheekbone. She staggered back, her face to the side. The room had fallen silent now but I didn't care, my rage had reached its zenith. As she straightened and turned back toward me, her face had become a mask of anger, the welt on her cheek already swelling. This is it, I thought as we crashed together, the reckoning.

We were both drunk and swinging at each other wildly, grabbing, punching, pushing, until we stumbled over a chair and fell to the floor on our sides. Now with a handful of hair each, we continued trying to punch around our tangle, legs clamped firmly together. Eventually, after who knew how many minutes, we were completely tangled, gripping each other's hair tightly in both hands and forcing our faces together. She had blood on her brow and some near her mouth, I assumed it was hers but I didn't care. With no room to strike or hurt each other further now, we raged nose to nose, managing only small bumps of head and face.

I don't know how long we would have remained like that, locked together in rage but many hands now grabbed and pulled, prizing our fingers from each other's hair, pulling our bodies away from each other, our legs still attempting to lock to each other, to pull us back into close quarters. Then it was over, we were pulled apart fully and moved to opposite ends of the room, chatter beginning again as concerned friends, the excitement over, inspected and tended to our wounds.

I felt a cold damp cloth gently pressed to my brow, my nose, my lips. I didn't feel any pain yet, the adrenaline and alcohol making a blur of everything. I realised I was crying but it felt distant, detached, the whole night now surreal and dream-like. Before long, I found myself in a taxi with Janelle holding my hand, then walking me up the drive to home, ringing the bell. My Dad answered the door, I have no idea what he was saying, just heard him and Janelle talking, then my Mum's voice far, far away....

Waking the following morning was like waking from a nightmare as the full unedited memory flooded into my conscious mind; the kiss, the fight, now sharply and painfully recalled in vivid detail. Mixed feelings flooded me as I ran the night through in my head. Kissing Lisa had been a revelation and in all honesty, probably the best kiss I had ever experienced. No small part of me still missed what she and I had been as children; no relationship or friendship had ever come close to that. Then her stinging ridicule that drew such fury from me in an instant; why do such a thing, be so tender then throw it back in my face like that? Did she think I wouldn't react or was she trying to push me into that? Head and heart full of confusion, I got up and went to inspect the damage in the bathroom mirror.

I had two black eyes, the left much worse, the eyebrow slightly split and very swollen. A bruise on my left cheekbone, a fat lip, also slightly split and some dried blood crusted around both my nostrils. I looked a sight and my whole face hurt. I prodded my nose gently, wiggled it a little; at least it didn't feel broken. Brushing my teeth was uncomfortable to say the least and I pondered on the display of violence we had put on. A lesbian kiss ending in a punch-up; we would be the talk of the college now until something more exciting happened.

My Mum and Dad were sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen sipping coffee. They both looked up, winced at the sight of me.

"So," started Dad, "want to fill me in?"

"I'm sure Janelle told you the important details," I said glumly.

"We want to hear your version, please," Mum said, some sympathy in her voice.

"Brief synopsis: We played spin the bottle, mine landed on Lisa twice, she spun it, it landed on me. She came over and started kissing me, we got into it, then she called me a fucking dyke, I punched her, we beat the crap out of each other. Pretty much it." I looked impatiently from one parent to the other.

"Ever think you might be the problem, angel?" Dad asked, adding my childhood pet name to good effect.

"Really, Dad? After everything she's done?" I was a little flabbergasted.

"Seems to us," he glanced at Mum, "most of the 'doing' has been yours to be frank."

That was a slap in the face. I didn't answer, just made myself a coffee and took it to the living room to sulk. I couldn't let myself cry, my face hurt too much.

Sure enough, just about everyone at college was talking about us. It was to be expected so I tried to let the obvious stares and whispers wash over me. When we eventually came face to face in the cafeteria at lunch time, a momentary silence fell while all present watched us with interest. Her face was a practical mirror of mine; we certainly had made a mess of each other. As if held in thrall, a long moment passed as we stared at each other. Did I see a tear in that beautiful blue eye? Was that stinging in my own eyes the sting of regret?

She dropped her head, walked around me to her friends and I continued on my way with no words passed between us. In truth I felt conflicted; though my anger remained I was also filled with regret now we'd actually hurt each other. A part of me had never let go of our friendship and like conscience, it pulled and poked at me to fix this broken mess that we had become. In truth I didn't know how and every time we spoke, it seemed to make things worse.

Our remaining time at college passed without incident, us mostly managing to ignore or avoid each other, our mutual friends keeping us apart wherever possible. It made some things awkward but after the initial gossip had died down, no-one actually wanted a repeat performance. We didn't speak to each other at all, occasionally exchanging the briefest of glances. There were a couple of times I thought I saw her look sad but it was too fleeting to know for sure.

As the years passed, there were repeated attempts by fate to throw us together again, that seemingly inescapable gravitation always at work. I won't list them all but a few highlighted examples will give you the idea.

Sat on a busy bus, one on one off kind of busy, the woman next to me got off. A young woman took the seat next to me. As the bus accelerated, she half fell into the seat, her skirt riding up, the movement throwing her against me as she sat heavily, her bare leg pressing against mine from hip to ankle. As she apologised, we looked at each other, freezing as our eyes met. The other Lisa, of course. On this occasion, I noted with interest, pressed together as we were neither of us moved away from the contact and we spent a 20 minute bus ride feeling the play of soft smooth skin against each other. We didn't speak, didn't look at each other, just sat like lovers.

Another example, one that actually repeated on a number of occasions, was on occasional nights out to a bar or pub. It was my turn to visit the bar, which was two deep on this busy night. I eventually got an opening to squeeze through and found myself shoving side-on into it just as another woman made the same dive for the gap. We squashed together chest to chest, my bare thigh slipping between hers as we were wedged between the pillar and the throng. Looking round, I found myself nose to nose with Lisa, of course, our laughter dying in our throats as we made eye contact. Again, though, neither of us moved, remaining pressed firmly together until we had both been served.

It was an odd sensation during these brief encounters. I still hated her but her physical proximity actually felt good, warm, almost comforting, a shared intimacy that we acknowledged without speaking. I assumed it was some sort of throwback to when we were best friends but it was strange as adults.

One more example, just to give the full picture of our encounters, which in truth must have been at least once a month since leaving college. I went swimming fairly regularly, usually picking times I knew the pool would be almost empty. Working now for Jerry, he was fairly relaxed about my time in the office so long as everything was running smoothly, so I could visit the baths on weekday afternoons.

Showering after one such session, a largish group of women came into the changing rooms. I had been alone and was showering naked, now regretting that and feeling awkward. They looked like they had been playing squash or badminton from their attire and they disrobed and entered the shower area, also stripping naked, which made me feel less awkward. The showers quickly filled and one woman spoke above the rest.

"Looks like we'll have to double up ladies."

Laughter answered the remark and I spoke to the woman standing nearest to me, her face turned away.

"I don't mind sharing, I'll be out soon."

She turned, starting to speak. Lisa, of course, I should have predicted that. Saying nothing, she joined me under the shower, back to back, our butt cheeks occasionally bumping and sliding over each other until I was done and went to get dressed, my mind distractedly replaying the feel of her smooth bottom gliding over mine.

As the years unfolded, I dated a few men, one for a number of years before it ended in disappointment. He was careless and I found out from a number of friends, including one of his mates, that he was seeing someone else as well. I was annoyed more at being made a fool of rather than upset; we were not love's young dream and I had been thinking of ending it anyway. It didn't take much digging to find out who he was sleeping with. You guessed it, the other Lisa. At least he wouldn't be shouting the wrong name out when he climaxed, I thought half amused. At this point in my life, aged 25, I was so used to Lisa and I being in each other's orbit, it didn't even surprise me or make me angry. We didn't have to deal with each other directly but each of us was always there, on the fringe, a permanent influence on the other's life.

After the end of that particular relationship, I decided to do the jilted lover and divorcee thing and take Salsa lessons. I'd always liked to dance though never with any style, it being free-form expression on night club dance floors. The classes weren't taken with a mind to meeting anyone in all honesty but it would be a chance to be physical with people while enjoying the activity as well. If I managed to have a sexual encounter on the way, well, I wasn't going to complain.

I did some research, found what looked like a suitable class run by middle aged local woman who was spoken of quite highly. Dressing for the occasion of my first night, I chose to display my best assets; activity shorts, very short, and a matching top, skin tight, with a loose silk blouse unbuttoned over the top. It wasn't often I didn't display my legs, choosing skin tight jeans or leggings even when it was cold. I wasn't easy but I liked the attention they drew if I'm honest.

I arrived early, introduced myself to the teacher, Sylvia, who was lovely and commenced my warm up, stretching lithely, hoping it might catch a few eyes. It caught Sylvia's first and she commented on my physique, laughing that I would put on a good show when the time came. The class started to fill, about 20 people in all I guessed. I scanned the faces, making eye contact, smiling, making myself known. Sylvia clapped loudly from the front.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, a moment please." The room hushed and eyes turned to Sylvia. "We have a new Salsa victim with us tonight, the first for a while." Some chuckles at that. "Please open your hearts and arms to her." she turned to me. "Welcome to our family, Lisa Miller."

A chorus of "Welcome, Lisa." I looked at each face in turn until I reached one lovely face at the far end of the room. Yes, you guessed it.

Sylvia spoke again, cutting through the pause.

"Lisa, can we have a minute?" It wasn't me she was talking to and the other Lisa walked over to her. Sylvia smiled at me and beckoned me over too. My stomach churned, suddenly, inexplicably a food mixer full of butterflies.

"Lisa here has been partnering me since she started with us about 6 months ago." She turned to Lisa. "How do you feel about taking on a novice partner and teaming up with Lisa?"

"Sure, I think we'll be a great paring," she said with a smile. She turned to me. "Don't you, Lis?"

The way she did that was maddening; the easy smile, the apparent lack of concern, like nothing had ever happened.

"Sure, it will be fun." I tried to adopt the same casual tone, relax my face but I'm not sure if I managed it.

Sylvia nodded approval, stepping back and gesturing for us to take our place together. Lisa and I looked each other up and down and I registered for the first time that she was similarly attired to me, her lithe athletic legs and body displayed to good effect. 'A good show indeed,' I thought to myself sardonically. I could have just quit right there; better judgement told me I should but I wanted these classes and another part of my mind had accepted that Lisa and I could not escape each other.

So the classes commenced and an unexpected new dynamic awakened between us. In unspoken agreement, we chose not to actually speak to each other, instead letting our dancing do the talking. I was a fast learner and we became what Sylvia described as a well-oiled machine, our bodies matching each other in size and ability, seemingly reading each other's form and movements with telepathic timing. Also in unspoken agreement, our dancing outfits remained skimpy and close fitting and I became accustomed to the feel of her skin on mine, the ripple of her stomach against mine, the silken kiss and slide of our thighs as we entwined in graceful motion.

New sensations grew in me as our time as partners unfolded and in spite of myself, I started to become aroused during our sessions, often feeling like I was about to orgasm as the evening drew to a close. I began to finish myself off in the shower once home, bringing to mind our gyrations and clinches to get me there. Part of me hated myself for that but the pleasure was real and I made no effort to quell it. I took it a little further on one occasion, my physical attraction pushing to me an act of terrible sneakiness I would never before have considered.

On the odd occasion, Lisa would arrive only just before the class was due to begin and on such nights changed into her dancing attire in one of the small rooms designated for changing. I hatched a plot and waited for the opportunity. When the next night she did this came around, I made an excuse to go to the changing room part way through the class. Ordinarily I would not wear panties under my dancing shorts but I had taken to doing so over the few sessions, waiting for this opportunity.

My passion running high once more after dancing with Lisa, they were now rather wet at the crotch. As quickly as I could, I stripped off my shorts and panties, exchanging them for Lisa's, which were sitting neatly folded in the top of her holdall. Ivory cotton, delicate with charming floral embroidery at the front, I had gone to great pains to match them having seen her wear these on numerous occasions. I quickly slid them on, folding mine in their place, put my shorts back on and rejoined her in the hall. So thrilled at my perfect crime, I nearly climaxed immediately as we resumed our practice, my hips pushing hard against hers, our bare tummies rippling together in perfect unison.

Once home on this night, I stripped off my shorts and top and lay on my bed, bringing to mind her perfect body, pressing my tummy, massaging my own skin in a parody of her touch. Wearing just her panties now, I rubbed them against my wanton sex, feeling my juices soak the cloth that had been next her sex earlier this day. I imagined us dancing naked together, our small but perfect breasts gliding over and around each other, lubricating our dance with the secretions of our love. Perfect harmony, two perfect bodies entwined in grace and passion.... I cried out as the orgasm took me, carried me away on this dream of our union. Her panties were soaked through now but I didn't remove them yet, lying there until I dozed for an hour or so in blissful dream.

You could be forgiven at this point for thinking I was actually a lesbian and although I had wondered myself, I was not attracted to other women. Lisa and I still didn't speak, my anger toward her remained but in close proximity something inexplicable happened and when we danced, I felt intoxicated by her. Part of whatever had made us inseparable as children had become physical in absence of our friendship. Feeling her skin against mine felt natural as well as arousing, and when Salsa nights ended, I felt an ache of loss that even bringing myself to orgasm didn't remedy.

For three years we danced together twice a week, becoming Sylvia's teacher's pets. With our almost telepathic synchronicity, we absorbed everything she threw at us and she entered us in a number of competitions. Winning them was no cake-walk; there were many talented duos out there but win them we did. Our strange unspoken pact remained though and although we danced like lovers, we still didn't speak or socialise.